


Ascension

by Chyme



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chyme/pseuds/Chyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamamo is no longer Amaterasu. But Hakuno can still make her see the stars she left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ascension

 

Tamamo does not scream; she hisses. She bolts upright or nearly so, her spine shifting just far enough away from the futon that Hakuno is convinced magic is at work. Even now, she can feel the taste of a more earthy sort on her tongue, infusing her limbs with a tense heat that could become languid, less jittery, if she just struck the right momentum.

Hakuno’s fingers shift, still searching for that perfect balance, and Tamamo twists, flinches with a snap of her spine that could make angels cry. Her eyes widen, the pupils flickering into thin black shards like those wedged inside the eyes of a lizard or a snake.

‘Maassss- **ter** ,’ she says, the word drawn out into one long fluttery sigh, one that wavers at its end into a harsh bite of sound.

But Hakuno is captivated, held prisoner instead, by the gold surrounding those beast-like pupils, the colour that flashes, wavers, with a hue that seems almost luminescent.

‘Naughty girl, Tamamo,’ she says firmly, wishing she could make her voice contort and run out into the same tonal shifts Tamamo is so expert at. Instead her nerves catch hold of her, making her grunt instead of squeak or sigh.

She looks down to see her thumb move of its own volition, above the wet warmth the rest of her fingers are still held by, gliding over a red nub of flesh that has, over the course of the last few minutes, started to stiffen, to emerge more thoroughly from it’s hiding place. And she continues to watch, her thumb dipping down around the soft jut of its contours in a careful press of movement that alights, harsher than a feather.

Hakuno smiles as she hears Tamamo gasp, and much like a small animal carefully testing out the undergrowth it has found itself inside, her thumb continues to roam, this time downward. It moves slowly between the delves of skin that flutter around the clitoris, skin that pushes away from her touch and opens like a fan, the clitoris straining, almost demanding for the pressure of her thumb. And she gives it, skin tracing over that soft bulge, making tiny, yet clumsy figure-of-eight motions that glance more over the surrounding skin than the intended target.

And a rumble runs through Tamamo, makes her breasts rise and fall, almost as though in distain.

‘Such a tease, Master...’

‘Hakuno,’ Hakuno enounces firmly and, as though she is simply bending to kiss a wrist, her mouth moves down to press a long, warm breath over that taunt red flesh.

Tamamo yowls and Hakuno’s tongue brushes out, just for a touch, a taste, before it laps in earnest amongst the thin crevices that drift and slip from that red-hot button of pleasure.

‘Hakuno, Hakuno,’ Tamamo is chanting now, all decorum forgotten, as her clawed fingers reach down, barely touching the top of Hakuno’s scalp. Like some messianic figure, Hakuno feels her hair drift and twitch, upwards into the curl of desperate, clever fingers.

‘Hakuno,’ Tamamo states with a harsh whisper, yanking with a sudden, sharp thrust.

Hakuno jerks, sputters, thankful that Tamamo didn’t as pull as hard as she could have, and starts moving her fingers again, arching them up toward the roof of the slippery canal they are drenched in, rising, curving like the thrust of a dolphin freeing itself from the waves, enabling her to curl her thumb, to brush it up with ease against that sought-after clitoris. And then down again, finger and thumb falling away with a slide, up, then down, her other arm keeping her balanced against the bed and the inelegant timing of Tamamo’s yanks.

There is no pleasure for her here, except to see the way Tamamo’s mouth falls open, yawning into a dark hole that at one time, may have managed to swallow the stars themselves. Hakuno can imagine it, Tamamo on the cusp of godhead at her beginning, attached to the orbit of the star she would draw power from. All of her space-dust, gleaming, orgasmic in a way her corporal form could now only attain a facsimile of under the concentration of Hakuno’s fingers.

‘I’ll get you there baby,’ Hakuno murmurs, for once not feeing foolish as the corny sentiment slips out of her mouth. ‘Hang on, Amaterasu, I’ll bring you home.’

‘No,’ hisses Tamamo, ‘Just Tamamo, Caster now. I am only fit for this.’

Hakuno’s heart breaks and she reaches up as much as she dares, slathers a kiss that turns into a possessive bite against the perfect milk of Tamamo’s thigh. The motion tips her, makes divide her balance more firmly between her straining knees so her free arm can reach up away from the sheets and fasten against one of Tamamo’s flexing hands.

‘No,’ she pulls away to whisper, as Tamamo screams her release. ‘No, I’ll launch you higher. Make you the best Servant.’

She stares down at the red cuts she has made against Tamamo’s skin with her teeth, at the deep little wells they have dug in against pores and the fine hairs that drift away, like a fine layer of sugar. The marks glisten in their freshness, burning brighter for that one moment in Hakuno’s gaze, than any sun, any star could possibly hope to be.

Tamamo sighs, her pupils drifting back out into human wideness. Gently, her fingers un-flex, uncurl, patting their way across the bumps of Hakuno’s fingers and the wavy river of her hair. And then they fasten with a lightning quickness into the gaps Hakuno’s fingers spread out to expose, digging them into a harsh complicity that makes Hakuno’s wrist curve slightly, as it is broken into a fierce hand-hold.

‘You are already the best master,’ Tamamo says, a quiet pride running beneath her voice. ‘No one else in this world would have cared to make me scream.’

Hakuno looks at her, touched.

Then Tamamo smiles, the angle of her mouth low and tricky. ‘And it will be the greatest honour imaginable to return the favour.’

Hakuno blinks, only once, only for a single _second_ , but Tamamo is already up and running her human partner onto her back in a rush of red hair and purple silks. Hakuno catches a flash of that familiar bow as it clouds her vision, as she feels her jacket pried from her chest, Tamamo’s hands brushing aside the shirt beneath with the fine rips of her claws.

‘Hey, wait, wait, wait!’

But Tamamo giggles and launches kiss after kiss at her, adorning her hair, her fringe, and Hakuno’s trembling fingers when they come up to press against her face in protest.

‘Aren’t you a courtesan?’ Hakuno asks a little crossly, forgetting to arrange the question into the past tense instead of the present. ‘Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, a little more _delicate_?’

Tamamo scoffs. ‘Nobody wants a delicate wallflower! That is simply what the poets describe us as, to make us take up the part of the stale drapery most would prefer us to look like in public. But on the bed, oh, on the bed, our voices are definitely allowed to be heard!’

She pushes Hakuno into the pillow, stroking back the stray flicks of brown that mess up her scalp, but with tenderness, the claws tucked away from the soft give of Hakuno’s forehead.

‘Master, you drank from me. Now allow me to drink from you.’

There is nothing Hakuno can think of to say that will make Tamamo back down. But why would she want to, when Tamamo is already moving down herself, flicking aside a school skirt and peeling off underwear with the speed only a Servant can provide?

Hakuno jumps as a tongue touches her, feeling wetness arrange itself into a curving stripe over the soft hills of her sex. It licks long and hard, strong against flesh that quivers and runs with  a clear sap that feels, just by the texture alone, as though it is breaking into a river.

Hakuno shivers. Shakes. Falls apart under the careful stroke, stroke, stroke of Tamamo’s almost animal-like tongue. It twists and cleaves into muscles that contract, slips into warm walls that open and shake beneath its touch, causing earthquakes to form inside the vaginal muscles that run down to the cervix that, no matter how skilled she is, Tamamo’s tongue cannot batter against.

Luckily, thinks Hakuno wryly, Tamamo is no giraffe. Then she’d be in trouble for sure.

She bucks with a cry as the round press of a finger, claw tactfully pointed away into the air, reaches out and causes a thrill-like flash to erupt through Hakuno’s entire being. And all it does is prod, no, softer than that, as the tip comes to rest on her clitoris.

Now this, thinks Hakuno in a daze, is true reciprocity. And she’s left thanking the gods, however many of them are left out there, as her knees ripple around Tamamo’s head, heels striking the bed and pushing against the mattress as her throat gives birth to a cry that shatters the calm inside her. Like a storm it breaks and she is left thrashing under the tongue and the casual, never-altering-its-pace _stroke, stroke, stroke_ of that single, cunning finger.

Tamamo looks at her. Smirks. And then lifts her finger up to give it a pointed lick, right in Hakuno’s line of sight.

Hakuno shivers again.

‘Are we up for round two, Master?’ Tamamo purrs.

And Hakuno narrows her eyes. Oh, it is so _on._

 

 


End file.
